


Model Behaviors

by robogalaxy



Series: deadlyroses 🌹 [18]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, Lashing Out, Oleana swears quite a bit too so, One Shot, Present Tense, Self-Esteem Issues, Strained Relationships, can we PLEASE let my girl have a complex backstory?, can we give oleana a backstory please, fair warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robogalaxy/pseuds/robogalaxy
Summary: Sabine and Felix Calypso, famous models hailing from Unova, are rumored to be touching down in Wyndon for a Galarian holiday!Oleana feels the air leave her lungs and hears herself clench her teeth and ball her fists.Howdarethey come here?
Relationships: Olive | Oleana/Rose | Chairman Rose
Series: deadlyroses 🌹 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162211
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	Model Behaviors

She picks it up on instinct, wondering what person in the chain of Macros Cosmos employees would order subscriptions to these pop culture magazines to keep around in break rooms and tables in waiting areas. Oleana knows good and well that these magazines keep the images of the League’s members afloat and launches their careers outside of battling, so she can’t _truly_ hate them nor wish for their demise. She wishes for this one’s cover story to painfully burn, however, anger in her grasp as she looks the couple in their printed eyes and feels the sudden burst of frustration flare up in her chest. Oleana looks at the date of the magazine, hoping it was published this week, but it was two weeks ago that the “talented” writers of _Wyndon’s_ (honestly, what a stuck up and pathetic title, the city doesn’t own anything and definitely doesn’t wish to own the insane drivel of gossipy nonsense, even if it helps part of the League out in the long run) picked up their pens and let the region know about the arrival of the fantastically wealthy, gorgeous, and high-maintenance Calypsos. Oleana furiously cards through the slick pages, passing perfume advertisements and elegantly groomed Wooloos in designer bows until she makes it to page 56, where bold font brazenly announces what the cover only hinted at. Green eyes scan the first sentence in its putrid, pink text. 

_Sabine and Felix Calypso, famous models hailing from Unova, are rumored to be touching down in Wyndon for a Galarian holiday._

Oleana feels the air leave her lungs and hears herself clench her teeth and feels the tension of balled fists. She has the urge to lose her cool, to throw the magazine out of an office window and hope to Arceus that an impossibly deadly impact caused by the tabloid lands right on the very people that have their pictures plastered on the pages in front of her eyes.

How _dare_ they come here? Oleana knows they aren’t idiots (well, perhaps her father has always been a bit of a dud, but not too dumb), she knows they pay attention to the world around them and they’d _definitely_ know Oleana lives and works in Wyndon. They may have cut contact and swore she’d never make it anywhere, but there was no way they’d still be in the dark about her reputation by now. 

_A reputation I’ve succeeded in building despite their constant clamor in arguments that told me they’d rather me model for an adult magazine than pursue education at eighteen._

Oleana is the chairman’s secretary, the vice president of the well known and region wide conglomerate Macros Cosmos, she’s the reason people of Galar are able to harness the region’s natural Dynamax energy and use it for the world famous Champion Cup, she’s constantly featured in candid shots alongside Rose as he poses for pictures with fans. Oleana’s no wallflower anymore. Her parents would have to know all of that, and yet they still decide to take a bloody holiday here - the place where Oleana finally got herself on her own feet and played by her own rules to make it to where she is today. _Disgusting_ , she thinks as her hands move to turn the magazine sideways, rage close to having her tear the thing to shreds, _knowing their self absorbed selves, I wouldn’t be surprised to see them try to weasel themselves into a ma—_

Oleana pauses, realizing she’s picked up on a possible reason for the Calypsos’ getaway. Her hands still violently shake, but her face goes blank, her mind racing through rough hypotheses. 

_They’re celebrities. Big names in the modeling world. Easily recognizable, and surely since Felix hails from Stow-on-Side._

_The chairman recently and offhandedly mentioned wanting to have a few big-name stars come to visit one of Leon’s exhibition matches for building hype across different regions with different populations._

Oleana paces the sleek floor and tries to mask her blank expression’s shift into almost hideous anger. 

_No, no! No, he wouldn’t have invited them. He knows better. He knows about them, knows about their ignorance, has comforted me when I went off the rails about the constant living hell being raised by them was. He wouldn’t allow them within a thousand feet of the stadium...right?_

She opens to the page of her parents’ faces again, noting that her mother still wears a fake, maroon glossed grin and a cigarette still hangs from her father’s lips. It almost makes her want to throw the paperweight next to her across the room to hear it shatter the majority of the chairman’s gifted glass figurines, but Oleana catches herself before she causes a disaster. Hell, she wants to throw _herself_ against the wall, as living in pain and possibly sustaining an injury would at least distract her from their potential arrival. A bruise on her forehead not covered up with foundation and instead out in the open would kill her parents’ poor, wretched souls. Sabine might even clutch her Clamperls, so offended by her child’s continued defiance! 

_Just rip the stupid magazine to shreds already, Oleana. Maybe even run it through the shredder if you're feeling professional enough for today! I mean..._

_You’re a professional now, aren’t you? Aren’t you? A big, strong, smart professional heading out into the big, big world! Better than us lowly people who don’t care about our smarts and sell out our bodies, huh? You always thought you were better than us, Oleana. Your own parents. You’re not, by the way, sweet – you’re just defiant._

“Ah, there you are,” says the man of the hour, the aforementioned chairman of Oleana’s thoughts as he walks to her with his usual stride, “I was looking around for you! I’ve received some sudden word about making accommodations for valuable A-listers coming for an exhibition match, and we both know you’re much better at the phone calls, hotel reservations, planning meetings with us. At least, much better than I am! Now,” Rose continues, “I don’t quite know who these celebrities are, but I believe they’re flying in from Unova. I came by to ask if you’d mind getting a head start on preparations. Considering they’ll be coming in from Unova, perhaps we have about… seven or so hours before they touch down? Give or take.”

“I’m not fucking doing it,” she snarls without even the slightest hint of respect towards Rose, not skipping a single beat before announcing her refusal, “no way in hell I will. No way in hell you can convince me to do so.”

“...Pardon?” Rose asks, taken aback by the grimace plastered on Oleana’s face, a scowl adorning what is usually a blank canvas, “That’s a brash way of saying you don’t want to do it, and frankly it’s also a bit offensive, don’t you think?”

“Offensive,” Oleana scoffs, “yes, I’m the one being offensive, sir. Of course I am! I always have been, haven’t I?” She lets out an amused laugh that dissolves into another scowl, the magazine under her arm stiff and heavy. He doesn’t notice it yet. 

“Not that I recall, no,” Rose says with genuine confusion. He studies the unnatural twist of her grimace, confused as to why she defies his request so vehemently. Rose himself doesn’t know who these celebrities are, so the fact Oleana is cursing with such rigor baffles him. “I’ve never once called you offensive. Is there something happening?”

“No, sir,” Oleana lies, “nothing’s wrong. I can’t deny a request every once in a while, is that it?” Her voice cracks halfway through, her delicate mask breaking away with every word she spits out to defend herself, “I just don’t think we should have to make their reservations or make sure they land safely. They’re rich and famous, right? They can surely find their way around the place without us having to watch their every move! But, no,” she continues with the tone of her voice souring with every new quip, “that’s our job. _My_ job. That’s what I’ll do, then! Why, yes, sir, I’ll get you a five star suite at the Rondelands! Yes, ma’am, I’ll make sure nobody dares to look at your aging face while you laugh your ass off at those poor folk not fortunate enough to be blessed with the knowledge of your intricate catalogue of shoots and gigs! Of course, my dear, lovely, gorgeous guests who can do no _fucking wrong_ , whatever...you…” 

“Oleana? Oleana, _listen_ , can you please listen for a moment?” Rose steps forward in an instant, provoked by Oleana’s sudden rage and the way her words slip in and out of a voice close to tearing like the papers she keeps in the filing cabinet, “Oleana, hey, _hey_.”

“Whatever you fucking _WANT!”_ Oleana screams, finally losing all sense of self control. Her voice rattles as the magazine falls from under her arm onto the floor and her hand grips tightly onto the paperweight, lifting it up so it glows in the sunshine before she throws it across the room with an arc so stunningly mortifying that Rose has to duck as it passes over his head. It crashes into the wall besides the door, leaving a dent the size of the clock that originally hung above it. Oleana glares at the broken clock and stands still as she watches the second hand slowly lose its pacing. It’s deathly silent in the room apart from their heavy breathing, adrenaline from the outburst coursing through them while locking their words away. 

_You only proved them right, you disgusting excuse for a woman._

“Oleana,” Rose begins. He has no malice in his voice and doesn’t seem to be upset with her violently disobeying his orders, “you’ve gotten me terribly concerned.”

_You scared the shit out of the chairman, too. Great to have your own lover stand in fear of you._

“Oleana, hey. _Hey_ ,” Rose emphasizes his last word, trying to bring the woman back into reality, “Can you hear me? Oleana,” he repeats, “your eyes’ve glazed over, love.”

_You’re going to have to pay for repairs, you disaster. Pretty girls don’t lash out, sweet. They can’t afford to._

“Oleana, I’m serious,” Rose pleas, “you’re frightening me. Talk to me. It’s alright to. I’m not angry with you. I’m not upset. A wall can be patched up and we can buy new clocks and paperweights, those don’t concern me. _You_ concern me. What’s wrong? Won’t you let me know?”

_You utter awful, selfish, woman._

“Love?”

“...I dropped that,” Oleana mentions meekly, her heel kicking the tabloid across the floor to Rose’s feet, “can you pick it up?” Rose barely scans the magazine before recognizing the faces that sit with stationary grace upon the cover. He feels his heart drop and looks up to Oleana, her face tinged with regret and the green of her eyes finally losing their gloss of fear to instead glaze over with tears. It all clicks now; no further word of Oleana’s is needed. 

“I...I didn’t know,” Rose whispers, “I didn’t think that they could be a possibility. Darling, I’m so, _so_ , sorry.” His words aim to mend, but they do nothing. She looks at him with wide eyes, hiccups, and complains of a weak stomach. She gags and blurts out a warning.

“Please move,” Oleana urges, “I’ve got to–”

Rose opens the door behind him and lets her run past him to rid herself of the nausea in the restroom four doors down. He doesn’t turn back around into the office until he hears the door slam shut. The magazine still lies there on the ground with the Calypsos’ faces glossy in the reflection of the harsh sun. Rose leans over to pick it up, fingering through the pages until he reaches where their story lies in the thick of fashion ideas and unneeded top ten lists. 

_Sabine and Felix Calypso, famous models hailing from Unova, are rumored to be touching down in Wyndon for a Galarian holiday._

Rose wastes no time in ripping the pages out, throwing them to the floor and spitting on them with vile, unadulterated anger. He calms enough to clean up after himself, wiping down the floor with his handkerchief and picking up the pages. He’s close to calling on Purrserker to rip the faces to shreds, but he instead decides to crumple them up and toss them into the bin beside the desk. The rest of _Wyndon’s_ sits to the left of the paperweight, ready to be shredded when Oleana finds the energy to find catharsis in her work again. If anyone deserves to destroy the publication, it’s her – without a shadow of a doubt.

“Chairman?” The voice returns, scratchy and raw. Oleana’s face is darkened with melting makeup and splotches of her foundation are missing. She’s wiped her mouth clean and the pale of her natural skin shows through her cracked cosmetics. She holds her shoes in her right hand, her black heels dangling in the air as her footsteps no longer echo against the office floor. Rose turns around to meet her gaze - he does nothing but open his arms wide for her to fall into. Oleana pauses, stands still, and does nothing else but sprint into them, dropping her shoes on the way there. She makes it to him, sobbing softly as not to agitate her stomach again. His arms wrap around her, warm and inviting. 

“Love?” 

"It can’t be them,” she chokes, “I won’t be able to handle it if it’s them.”

"I know," Rose says calmly, dotting Oleana's eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, "I know.”

“They cut me off, yet I _know_ they know almost every single little bloody thing about me despite! I can’t be in the same city as them."

"Of course, I understand, darling."

"Hell, I’d rather _die_.”

“Don’t be harsh now,” Rose soothes, “but I get it. I know it. _Anything_ but having to deal with them, I get it. I know, I know.” She quiets down for only a moment, only minor hiccups returning to her aching voice, “But, please, love, don’t wish death upon yourself,” Rose worries as his arms wrap around Oleana tighter and he rocks her to a silent rhythm, much like waves against the Circhester Bay, “it only worries both of us.” It’s her turn now to say she knows, following the statement up with an apology. 

“I’m sorry, Antony,” Oleana whispers, “I’ll try not to do it again.” 

“Oh, love. What have I said so many times before? Apologizing for being distraught and upset _isn’t_ needed. You _never_ have to be sorry for emotions, my dearest.” Rose knows why she does anyway, privy to the knowledge of her constant threats of punishment if she wasn’t smiling happily at every action she performed as a child. It doesn’t sting any less, though, to see it still has its detrimental effects on her self-worth to this day. “If it turns out to be them, then you're free to be 'sick' tomorrow if you'd like, you're free to not come in, you're free to do _anything_ but see them. Do you understand?" Oleana can only nod through her lessening angered cries, clutching onto Rose's shoulders and staining the soft suit jacket with her running mascara. 

“ _Mhmm_ ,” she mumbles, “I understand.”

"Fantastic," Rose whispers, placing his lips on her forehead softly and hugging her close, "fantastic." His eyes shift down to his watch and he responds to what he sees with a sigh mixed of anticipation and fear. Only 5 more hours until estimated arrival. 

"Now, listen carefully, Oleana–”

" _Ollie_ ," she implores without hesitation, softening up and dropping the professional persona, "I want to be Ollie now."

"Well then, Ollie,” Rose complies with a soft peck placed on the crown of Oleana’s light hair, “listen carefully. Whatever happens, I'll be here for you. If by chance it is them, I’ll take care of it, I’ll keep my cool. I’ll make sure they do nothing to you and have nothing to do with you."

“Thank you,” she whispers, “ _thank_ _you._ ”

“Anything, _anything_ for you, Ollie,” Rose reassures, holding her with compassion. He wants to lay her down, get her rested and hydrated, away from work and to a place in time where she doesn’t have to feel sick much longer, but she refuses to let go of him. Her arms are locked in place. She’s a far cry from the stoic woman that walked into the office this morning at 9:00 am sharp, but Rose doesn’t see the issue with her professional façade dropping in favor of natural emotion. Her eyes are puffy and her voice achy, her throat scratched up like glass and her nose running like the rivers where the smallest of the Feebas live. 

“I love you, my darling,” Rose comforts while he sways them from side to side again, “I love you, I love you, I _adore_ you.” He hums a tune as they rock, careful not to miss a note or change his pitch.

“I know how much _you_ love me," Oleana says while tears well up in her eyes again, "I… I just don't know about them. Been in their lives for thirty-seven years, haven’t seen them in person for nineteen, and I think they’ve never _truly_ loved me for any of them.” She relays these frequent thoughts to Rose, dropping sensitive details with no remorse. She’s already been sick, so she doesn’t find any problem in word-vomiting. “And you’re sure,” Oleana asks at the end of her rant as her voice is finally gone, “absolutely sure that I won’t have to do a thing if it’s them?”

"Promise you won't, my love, and even if it isn’t, you deserve to rest up for a bit. I can’t have you stressing yourself down to the wire, darling," Rose says while he holds onto Oleana's hands with a soft smile, "it isn't healthy."

Oh, but how he _wishes_ for these same hands that interlock with Oleana’s slender fingers to harm Sabine and Felix, to show them the door with a pointed finger and to tell them to never try to come back anywhere close to her, to knock the pretty, perfect, pearly white teeth out of their mouths before they have a chance to talk to him with phony kindness as if they don’t know who works so loyally beside him.

“Thank you,” Oleana repeats in a whisper to avoid straining her voice, “and I’m sorry again about the paperweight.”

“You’ve already worried yourself sick,” Rose reminds Oleana before walking away from her to pick up her shoes and pack up her purse, “so I’d suggest you sit down and rest. I’ll gather your things. Let me handle tomorrow. Is that alright with you, darling?” 

_Of course it is_ , Oleana thinks, _no way it hell it wouldn’t be and no way in hell you could convince me otherwise._

**Author's Note:**

> this waaaaaaas sort of a vent fic... just a lil bit. emotion wise, not plot wise. lov my own parents but i also wanted something FURIOUS you know? more story of her parents from _Rubbish?_ plus like i.... always die for rose being soft and for oleana showing legit reasons for her strong, shifting emotions, haha...
> 
> thank you SO much for reading!! feel free to leave kudos, comments, and bookmarks~ <3


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